A Lasting Impression
by Pasture Mix
Summary: A friend is someone who knows you as you are, understands where you've been, and accepts what you've become.


_Oh Gods, I have no idea why I'm doing this, but A Knight's Tale was on TV the other day and I've become hooked. I knew it was good when I saw it at the cinema, but I enjoyed it so much when I saw it again that I've decided to… do this._

_Also, there is way too much romance in this fandom: over three-quarters of the stories on are romance, and most of these are slash. Maybe there's room for something else? We shall see._

_I own nothing; the characters and storyline belong to their respective film company (I don't actually know which it is, but rest assured it is not me). I am writing this merely for pleasure._

_Please review, and be constructive. Flaming me will be no use whatsoever, especially since the addition of a 'Remove Review' feature on Cheers!_

**Chapter One: How About That?**

All there is, for miles upon miles, is the long dusty road. The gentle rise and fall of the land is the only interruption of the terrain. Occasionally there is a wood, or a patchwork of fields, but they matter little to the land, or to the road.

If you look closer, there are figures on the road, going along at a slow, steady pace; a purposeful walk that suggests they have somewhere to go and know exactly how to get there. The endless road before them stretches away into the haze that is the distance, but that does not seem to faze them, or, indeed, cause them to falter at all in their steps.

Looking even closer will bring the figures into sharper detail. The most striking feature about them is a spot of bright orange that stands out for miles around, attracting the attention of many soon-to-be-disappointed birds. The orange speck, on closer inspection, will turn out to be the hair of a young boy of about ten years old. He is slumped among the baggage on the cart, seemingly asleep, but snoring slightly too loud to be convincing. Dragging the cart is a heavy-set bay horse with thickly feathered legs. He has a long suffering look about him, as though he and this cart have become all too familiar. His long suffering look is matched by the equally heavy-set boy leading him. The boy is wearing an empty sack over his hair to shade his eyes from the unforgiving heat, and is muttering empty curses and complaints under his breath.

The final figure is obviously the most important of the three; he is tall and broad-shouldered, with a scrubby black beard and an important air about him. He rides upon a tall, clean-limbed dark bay horse who has an equally superior aura. The knight (for that is what he was) wears luxurious clothes, which, unlike those of his squires, are not torn, darned or filthy.

The companionable silence in which they are travelling- if you could call it silence, what with the mutters, and the snores, the creaks of the cart's wheels and steady clop of the horses' hooves- is broken by the heavy-set boy. He leaves the old bay horse's side, knowing that he will happily plod down the road on his own for a while, and heads to the cart. Leaping up onto it with agility no one would have thought his stocky build capable of; he removes the sack from his head, revealing a mop of scruffy brown hair, and proceeds to beat the red-haired boy about the face with it.

"Oy! Oy, Wat!" The other boy groaned, and turned his head the other way, but otherwise does not react. This crime is rewarded with more beatings from the heavy sack. "Wat! _WAT!"_Wat cracked open one eye, squinting against the glare of the midday sun, and then focuses on his companion.

"'lo, Roland." He managed a lop-sided smile. "You alrigh'?" He realised all too late that this sort of phoney, care-free talk is doing nothing for Roland's temper, and Roland's temper is something to be avoided, especially when he is wielding a weapon as dangerous as an old sack. Wat raised one eyebrow- a feat Roland had tried to learn and failed at extravagantly- and sat up. Roland had a laid-back personality; he was the sort of person that took things as they came and accepted people as they were, and his wrath was extremely slow to rouse, but once it was roused… well, Wat was still bruised from the last time.

Fuming, Roland raised his chosen weapon again, but Wat was too fast for him. With the speed of a striking swordsman, he vaulted over the side of the cart without appearing to have made any movement in between sitting and leaping. He reached old Luke's side and took hold of his bridle, stroking his neck with the other hand. Ignoring Roland's grumbles as the other boy climbed down from the trundling cart, and the amused glances of their master, Wat stared straight ahead at the road, trying to work out how far they had yet to travel along it: Wat was good with numbers. Soon, however, his counting was interrupted by something far more unusual.

"Well," said Wat cheerfully, "how about that?"

* * *

_Well, I hope that was good enough to keep the flamers at bay. I am going to try to stick to the story as much as possible- unlike many, I am not a Jocelyn hater, but she will not be appearing in this story. I may sidetrack at some point to check-up on Kate and (God knows he needs it) Chaucer. Otherwise, the main characters are going to be Wat, Roland and Will. Wat and Roland are my favourite characters, along with Chaucer, though I admire Will a lot._

_I also hope to deal with the appearance of 'The Horse', bless his heart._

_Please review!_


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